


Finding Feet

by Spellmugwump



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After the battle, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spellmugwump/pseuds/Spellmugwump
Summary: Harry wakes after meeting Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest and Dumbledore in Kings Cross to be met with darkness, confusion, and the inside of a marble tomb.





	Finding Feet

Prologue

He had expected to feel something of the forest underneath his fingertips. He had expected to hear jeers and shouts, laughter, perhaps even the high, cold voice of Voldemort himself.

There were not many things Harry had anticipated, but it was with a surety he was not entirely sure was warranted that he thought the Forbidden Forest would fill his senses.

Yet, rather than the smell of leaves and bark filling his nostrils, there was nothing of note. Rather than the slight warmth of the fire the Death Eaters had had, there was no breeze, and no hot or cold, tepidity or coolness. It felt eerily like the Platform Nine and Three-Quarters he had just left.

A sudden, horrified thought jolted through Harry’s head. What if he hadn’t left? What if he had, somehow, through sheer bad luck (the kind of which he was known) passed on to some other dimension where Dumbledore presumably remained?

Harry’s eyes snapped open. He was oddly disappointed to have no grander reception or occurrence than to be met with utter black. He couldn’t fathom where he had ended up, how or why, but he was sure it wasn’t the brightness of that train station he was met with. It certainly didn’t seem like Voldemort’s doing, especially not in a time of quite literal battle. There was a time, a long one, where Voldemort would have waited to ensure Harry’s death was viewed by all who could. Now, during the fight that promised to be the last, he considered that Voldemort was far more likely to take any opportunity he could.

In a turn of logic, Harry thought that it might be useful to see his surroundings, and consequently began wriggling in what he quickly found was a really rather enclosed space. His elbow hit something considerably solid and he swore violently, cursing even louder when he kicked the same substance above him with his left foot.

Pausing to breathe, Harry felt about himself angrily, shuffling as much as he was able. He stroked his fingers against the material. It was hard and cool, smooth with only the slightest amount of dimpling. He thought it might be stone, polished perhaps, as he pressed his fingernails uselessly into the crevices.

Blood still pumping aimlessly around his head, Harry felt an anxiousness unlike anything else he had felt since Ron stormed out of the tent. He had rarely had time to think about things, especially true in the midst of the fight. Everything seemed to answer to the commands of his instincts; even walking through the Forbidden Forest had not allowed for much room other than blind panic, fear and resolve.

He wanted this sobriety to end. Harry wanted his instinctual living back. The past year would threaten to fall upon him without reserve should he think about it too hard, and that was something that he couldn’t afford in the heat of fighting Voldemort. He had no idea what was happening outside his cocoon. Perhaps he was miles away from the action, perhaps he was in the midst of it. Maybe he – Harry’s hands had abruptly splayed themselves on the flooring in his frustration, and his right had somehow happened to grip a long, thin stick.

A warmth flew up his arm that filled Harry with nostalgia of Ollivander’s and the deep, musty mystery of the shop. It was his holly wand, whole and undamaged from his time with Hermione in Godric’s Hollow.

In a state of wonder he whispered ‘lumos,’, and his surroundings revealed themselves in the searing light.

It was distinctly uninteresting to the eye. Harry remained shocked nevertheless, staring at the blank white marble as his eyes adjusted more and more to the wand-light. He hadn’t a clue what he had been expecting, and in truth he felt quite stupid for not having thought of it given his exploring, but it still came as a surprise that he was lying in some kind of – tomb?

Rock stared back at Harry ominously as he rolled his wand absently between his thumb and forefingers. He couldn’t fathom why he was here. Was he being kept by Death Eaters in some bizarre method of capture? Were they preserving him for the right moment?

With half his mind preparing himself to feel the ramifications of trying to break whatever curse was probably coating his surroundings, Harry decided on simply trying to explode his way out. Hopefully, he would be in some far off corner where the sound would blend in with the rest of Hogwarts’ crumbling walls.

Realistically, and knowing that his good luck had most likely ended with the discovery of his wand, he thought the marble would probably shatter him out into the middle of Malfoy Manor. You never know, Harry thought; a piece of it might manage to hit Voldemort on the forehead and knock him out long enough to finish him off.

Sighing, Harry lifted his Holly wand and pressed the tip against the cool stone above his head. ‘Reducto!’ He shouted, pouring all of his force into the word, to which he was met with grit in his eyes from the debris and light that seemed to sear itself into his pupils.


End file.
